


Episodes

by fmpsimon



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, DBZ, Dragon Ball Z - Freeform, F/M, Romance, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmpsimon/pseuds/fmpsimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I awoke one day to find that I had settled down, formed a family...I had even grown quite fond of them. Would you believe, I almost started to think the Earth was a nice place to live?"  A series of scenes told from both Vegeta's and Bulma's perspectives, detailing events from the Android through Majin Buu Sagas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wine and Cherry Lip Gloss

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, these are not retellings of DBZ episodes. These are drabbles for scenes that happen off-screen and during the time jumps.

            Bulma was doing it again.  Staring at him.  Sitting at the opposite end of the room, eyeing him.  He hated it when she did that.  But he hated it more that she noticed him looking at her.  God, that woman was a piece of work.  She raised her wine glass to her lips and raised an eyebrow, her eyes on him the whole time.  He flushed a little, turning away.  He couldn't even look across the room in peace.  Downing the rest of his beer, he looked down, concentrating on the plate of tiny appetizers that Bulma had prepared.  He picked up a radish flower, staring at it.  He felt ridiculous eating this... _cute_ food.  His eyes flicked past the radish.  She was walking towards him—sashaying, really, in a skirt that was far too short for a woman her age.  Why did he even notice that?

            Bulma plopped down next to him on the couch, her bare knees knocking against his thigh.  "Having a good time, Vegeta?" she asked, a big grin on her face.

            "Hm," he grunted, looking around the room, at anything but her.  She was obnoxious enough without alcohol in her system, but with it, she was nearly unbearable.

            "It was a nice turnout," she went on, completely ignoring him.  "I didn't expect so many people to accept, being so close to a holiday."  She put a hand on his leg, drawing a flinch from him.  "I know it's not in your nature, but you could try getting to know some of the neighbors."

            He moved away from her to get her hand off of him.  “I’m not _interested_ in playing nice with your neighbors.  If you hadn’t noticed, I’m only here to train.”

            “Oh, I noticed,” Bulma said with a wink.  She gave his thigh a squeeze.  “Wow, you sure are muscle-y, aren’t you?  I think you might catch up to Goku soon.”

            He pushed her hand aside.  "Your _boyfriend_ is watching," he sneered.  Yamcha was staring—no, glowering at them, his hands balled into fists.  Vegeta's lips curled into a smile, amused at the display of jealousy.

            Bulma stood up, finishing her glass of wine.  "I'm just trying to be nice," she muttered, walking away, tripping on her own heel.  She picked up another glass of wine on her way back to Yamch.  He scoffed.  As if she needed any more.  She was well past intoxicated.

            Vegeta crossed his arms, leaning back against the couch.  He watched the others mingling—chatting and joking, and sometimes flirting with one another.  He snorted.  What these humans wasted their time on….After a moment, his attention was drawn back to the hostess.  Yamcha had raised his voice slightly and Bulma had matched his volume, getting progressively more red in the face.  The argument was getting so heated that people nearby were starting to leave.  But now Bulma was on the offensive.  Suddenly her arm was in the air, palm open, poised to slap him across the face.  Vegeta smiled with pleasure, relishing in her act of aggression against that fool.  As her arm swung down, Yamcha raised his hand, grabbing a hold of her wrist and stopping her.

            Vegeta was on his feet in an instant, his hands in fists, just waiting for Yamcha to do something.  He gritted his teeth.  His eyes flicked around the room.  Now people were staring at him.  He grunted in frustration and approached the quarreling couple.  “If there’s a problem, don’t you two think you should at least keep up appearances until your ridiculous party is over?”

            “I think it _is_ over,” Yamcha muttered, weakly smiling and waving at the remaining departing guests.  When they had disappeared through the door, Yamcha turned to Vegeta, holding his fist out in front of him.  “ _He_ is the problem, Bulma.”

            “Don’t drag _Vegeta_ into this!” Bulma shouted.  “He’s our guest!”  She wobbled a little, and then steadied herself.  “This is about _you_ and _me_ , Yamcha.”

            “Ha!  If there was a you and me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation about _him_ , would we?” Yamcha challenged, pointing at Vegeta.

            “Get your hand out of my face, or you’re going to lose it,” Vegeta growled.  Yamcha rolled his eyes.  “I’m not joking.”

            Begrudgingly, he lowered his hand.  Then, glaring at the Saiyan, he said, “This is none of your business.  Don’t you have some training to do?”

            “Don’t you?” Vegeta shot back.  “Save your strength for the Androids—you’re going to need it if you have any hope of surviving.”

            “You’re lucky we’re on the same side,” Yamcha grumbled.  “Because if we weren’t, I’d—”

            “You’d what?”  Vegeta chuckled.  “I couldn’t care less about your little lovers’ quarrel,” he sneered, looking at Bulma.  “But I am sick of listening to her cry.”  Bulma looked at him, tears glistening in her eyes.  Without another look at them, he was out the back door, not bothering to shut it.  He walked across the lawn purposefully, going nowhere in particular.  What was wrong with him?  He couldn’t get that stupid woman out of his mind.  He had never been with a woman before—he had never really even thought about them.  Settling down had been the last thing on his mind when he had left his planet, and there had been no time to think about women since then.

            “Vegeta!”  He turned around to see Bulma half-running towards him.  When she reached him, she was slightly out of breath.  She signaled for him to wait while she composed herself.  He rolled his eyes.  She wobbled again, and this time he caught her arm.  She smiled crookedly at him and he quickly yanked his hand back.  She gave her head a shake.  “Sorry, still a little buzzed from all the wine!”  After a minute, she said, “I wanted to thank you for standing up for me back there.  It was big of you, and _really_ out of character, I might add.”

            “Tch, I was looking for an opportunity to hit that oaf, Yamcha,” he shrugged, looking away.

            “He’s not that bad,” Bulma admitted.

            Vegeta snorted.  “Not that bad?  He’s insane with jealousy!  I’m not surprised, though.  You’re the biggest flirt I’ve ever seen.”

            Bulma crossed her arms, staring him down.  “ _You’re_ one to talk about jealousy!  All you ever try to do is one-up Goku!  Of course, you never will—he’ll always be one step ahead of you.”

            “What?  Why you…”  He glared at her.  “Don’t pretend you understand _anything_ about Saiyans.”

            “I don’t know, the longer I know you, the more one-dimensional you seem,” she said, a devilish grin on her face.  She watched him as he became more visibly angry, and began to laugh.  “God, Vegeta, calm down!  I’m just trying to wind you up!  Man, you are _easy_.”  He deliberately stared at the horizon, and she took that opportunity to kiss his cheek.

            He jumped, his face flushed.  “What was that for?”

            “Thank you,” she said, winking.  She walked towards him until she was standing in front of him, inches from his face.  What was she doing?  He felt his cheeks getting hotter.  She was making him uncomfortable, and she knew it.  She put a hand on his chest and he stepped back, hitting the trunk of a tree.  His eyes darted around quickly, looking for an escape.  There was none.  She had him backed into a corner.  “And just to keep things interesting…”  She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head towards hers, pressing her lips against his and jamming her tongue into his mouth.

            He allowed himself a few seconds of enjoyment before he roughly pushed her away.  She winked again, turned on her heel, and disappeared back into the house.  After a minute or two, the ringing in his ears stopped, and he was able to let go of some of the tension.  There was complete silence but for the songs of the crickets and the frogs.  He could taste the wine and her cherry-flavored lip gloss.


	2. Closer

            Sweat was dripping off his forehead as he lifted himself off the floor, up and down, over and over.  _8577…8578…8579_ …  He licked his lips, and mixed with the salt of his sweat was a hint of cherry.  He shook it off.  He was imagining it.  That kiss had been days ago.  It might have even been weeks ago.  It was hard to tell.  He remembered the feeling of her tongue exploring his mouth, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push those thoughts away.  He was having trouble concentrating, and soon he had no idea how many push-ups he’d done.  “Damn that woman,” Vegeta cursed, punching the floor.  “I’ve allowed her to get under my skin.”  He turned the gravity level back to normal and exited the chamber.  His clothes were soaked with sweat and he began shedding them as soon as he entered the bathroom.  He was about to remove his pants when he heard it.  Running water and…crying.  Again, that woman was crying.  He wondered if all other human females were like this.  He peeked around the corner where the shower was and saw a pale naked form behind the frosted glass.  The blue hair was unmistakable.  He rolled his eyes, sighing.  Of all the bathrooms, she had to use _this_ one.  Probably because it was the farthest from the main areas of the house, making it difficult for anyone to know she was even here, let alone that she was using the shower as a drain for her uncontrollable tears.

            “Are you about done in there?” he yelled callously, stepping into the hall so that she could see him.  “Some of us actually need to shower!”

            The crying halted at once.  He watched her scramble to cover herself.  Pointless, really.  All he could see was a pale blur— _not_ that he was looking.  “Vegeta?  Is that you?” came her trembling voice.  He grunted in response.  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, SPYING ON ME?!  YOU PEEPING TOM—YOU GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!”

            He jumped at the sudden outburst and stepped back behind the wall.  “I CAN’T SEE YOU, YOU STUPID WOMAN!  BUT I’M NOT LEAVING THIS BATHROOM, NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU SCREAM!”  He smiled, satisfied, when he heard the water shut off.

            “I need a towel,” she called after a moment, annoyed.

            He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.  “There’s plenty of towels out here.  Why don’t you come and get one yourself?”

            “VEGETA, YOU PERVERT!  IF YOU DON’T THROW ME A TOWEL, I’M GONNA BEAT YOU SENSELESS WITH YOUR OWN STUPID FISTS!”

            He chuckled, grabbing one of the many fluffy white towels.  He held it out, looking away.  In a few seconds, it was pulled from his hands, and when he looked back, Bulma was standing before him with the towel tied neatly around her.

            “You don’t have to be such a jerk, you know,” she said.  He noticed her face was flushed, though he wasn’t sure if this was from the bout of crying or the embarrassment.  “I came in here to be alone.  And it is _my_ house,” she added pointedly.

            He studied his fingernails.  “And I believe it was also your rule that I bathe after training sessions.  How am I supposed to do that when you’re in here wailing?”

            She glowered at him.  “Boy, was it a mistake letting you stay here,” she said, shaking her head and walking towards the door.  “I don’t know _what_ I was thinking.”

            He caught her arm.  “You shouldn’t be so embarrassed.  You’re a beautiful woman.  Even if you are irritating beyond belief,” he added after a moment.  He glanced back just long enough to see her mouth drop open, before rounding the corner, shedding the rest of his clothes, and getting into the shower.

            Vegeta closed his eyes, letting the hot water pour over his face.  He wasn’t in there for more than a minute when he heard footsteps approaching.  “What is it now?” he groaned.

            “I just thought you should know that you won’t have to listen to me crying for much longer,” Bulma said.

            “Why’s that?” he said, humoring her.  He glanced over his shoulder.  She was leaning against the wall, drying her hair.  As she dried each clump, it sprung up in a great poof atop her head.

            “I broke it off.  Yamcha just couldn’t commit,” she said matter-of-factly.

            “Then why are _you_ crying?” Vegeta said.

            “Huh?”  She stopped a moment, thinking.  “We’ve been together for so long,” she said at length.  “It’s like losing family, I suppose.”  She paused.  “I’m not really sure where to go from here, and…it’s kind of scary.”

            “You’re thinking of it wrong,” he said.  “You cut someone out of your life that was holding you back.  Now you’re free.”

            “I guess,” she said thoughtfully.  “But free to do what, I don’t know.”  There was a long pause, and for a moment, he thought she had left.  He heaved a sigh and shut the water off.  Slowly the steam dissipated, and he turned to open the door.  He hesitated slightly when he saw her still there, staring up at the ceiling.  Lost in her own little world, he figured.  He pushed open the door and stepped out.  She blinked, and he could tell she was trying desperately not to look below his waist.

            “Take a good look,” he said.  “I’m not ashamed.”  Her face turned red, but she continued looking him in the eye.  He did the same as he stepped towards her.  His hand brushed her bare shoulder as he reached behind her, and she visibly tensed.  Her mouth hung open; he was inches from her face.  And finally he found what he was looking for, grabbing a hold of, and pulling the towel out from behind her.  He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked out.


	3. Release/Pressure

            The sex was quick.  It was over in a manner of minutes, which was fine, because it wasn’t about feelings.  It was just physical.  The tension that had built up in the last several weeks needed to be released.  She had been waiting for him outside the gravity chamber.  He had been about to say something rude, but she had stopped his mouth with a kiss and pushed him back into the chamber.  He was surprised by her roughness, but looking back on it, he should have expected no less of her.  She climbed on top of him, straddling him as she struggled to remove his clothes.  She pulled her own shirt over her head and threw it aside, repeating the movement with his.  How they removed the rest of their garments was a jumbled mess.  But once that was accomplished, he wasted no time reversing their positions and getting inside her.  She screamed out, both in pain and pleasure, and he was glad the chamber was relatively soundproof.  When he was done, he hovered over her, breathing heavily, until Bulma pushed him off.  After a moment, she was on her feet, starting to dress.

            “Don’t say anything about this to my parents…or anyone else, for that matter,” Bulma said, pulling on her shirt with her back to him.  She stuffed her bra in her back pocket once she’d gotten her jeans back on.  Vegeta had torn it off of her with such force that it had rendered it un-wearable.  She turned to face him.  “It was just sex.  Nothing more.”  She tossed his pants at him.  “Put some clothes on, would you?”  She crossed her arms, watching him dress.  “I just don’t want you to get any ideas.  There’s no future in this.”

            He laughed, marginally impressed with her.  “I should be saying that to you!”

            Bulma glared at him.  “And this isn’t a regular thing, you know,” she went on.  “One time.”

            “You’re lucky you can even stand,” he said with a hint of malice.  “Saiyans are well-known for their brutal mating rituals.”

            She made a face.  “Huh, I felt like _I_ was doing most of the work.”  He glared back at her.  “Besides,” she began, putting her hands on her hips, “you’re only _half_ a Saiyan since your tail got cut off.”

            He raised his fist, gritting his teeth, then thought better.  She wasn’t worth the trouble.  And besides, he had already gotten what he wanted from her.  “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, girl.”

            “Oh, I understand plenty!” she spat.  “You’ll never be satisfied until you beat Goku.  Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but you’ll never beat him.  He’s a thousand times stronger than you!  And he _always will be_.”  She poked her finger into his chest as she spoke.

            Vegeta narrowed his eyes and swatted her hand away.  “Get out.  I have training to do.”  She gaped at him.  “And don’t bother hanging around here anymore.”

            “Yeah, right,” she scoffed.  “You wouldn’t know what to do without me around.”

            “Apparently you _are_ as dumb as you look,” he said, stomping towards her.  He threw open the door with one hand and pushed her out with the other.  “GET OUT, AND DON’T COME BACK!”  And then he slammed the door.  Bulma, that _stupid_ woman.  Did she _really_ think he wanted anything to do with her?  She was just convenient.  A concubine that happened to be handy with a wrench.  He slammed his fist down on the console.  “Damn it!”  He dialed up the gravity.  Training was what he needed…training to blow off steam.  Training to get her off his mind.

            He trained for hours on end, never leaving the chamber, raising the gravity level higher and higher.  It could have been days before he felt the need to sleep.  He opened the door and dragged himself out.  He was tired, and angry with himself for admitting it.  It was a shame he didn’t have any senzu beans, otherwise he could go on training for another 48 hours or so.  He slept on the lawn when he needed to, then continued to train.  Weeks went by.

            He had gone down to the pond to bathe and was returning to the gravity chamber when he saw her.  She was leaning against the door, arms crossed.  “What are you doing here?” he sneered.

            “I have something to tell you,” she said stoically.  Her eyes were hard.

            He rolled his eyes and tried to get past her.  “I’m not interested.”

            “YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!” she exploded.  He took a step back, heaved a sigh, and crossed his arms.  “Now,” she began, “I don’t expect anything from you.  I’d almost prefer it if you _didn’t_ get involved,” she muttered.  She shook her head quickly.  “What I’m trying to say is, I’m taking responsibility—even though it’s half your fault.”

            “For God’s sake, woman, just spit it out!” he growled.

            “I’M PREGNANT!” she shouted.

            His jaw dropped and his arms fell limp at his sides.  “WHAT?!”


	4. The Visit

            Yamcha stared at Bulma, his eyes wide, still digesting what she had told him.  She had called him out of the blue and asked him to have lunch with her.  She knew he probably had thought she wanted to get back together with him.  She _had_ entertained the idea, but not for very long.  They didn't belong together.  That much she knew.

            "How did this happen?" he sputtered, staring at the bump under her shirt.

            She flushed a little.  "You don't seriously want me to tell you all the details, do you?"  She exhaled, and took a long drink of her lemonade.  "It just happened, okay?"

            He tapped his fingers on the table, visibly agitated.  "So...who's the father?"

            She laughed loudly.  "Like I'm gonna tell you!"

            He crossed his arms.  "Then what the hell did you call me over here for?"  He narrowed his eyes and looked at her expectantly.

            Bulma frowned.  "I needed to tell _someone_."  She paused, stirring the ice around her glass with her finger.  "I mean, my parents know, obviously.”  She licked her finger.  “I couldn't exactly hide the vomiting.  Or this,” she added, rubbing her belly.

            Yamcha nodded.  "Look, I'm not gonna let you do this on your own.”  He drummed his fingers on the table, annoyed.  “Where's the damn father, anyway?  You tell me his name, and I'll get his ass back here!"

            She smiled at his passion.  If only he'd been that way when they had been together.  “Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”  He leaned back, nodding.  "It's…”  She stopped, taking a deep breath.  This was the first time she had said it aloud.  “Vegeta’s the father."  Yamcha’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.  She panicked.  "You _can't tell anyone_ , Yamcha!  Not a soul!  Not even Puar."

            But he wasn't listening.  There was fire in his eyes, and his hands were balled into fists, his knuckles white.  "That fucking monkey!" he shouted, punching every word.

            "Yamcha!"  She put a hand on his mouth.  "Quiet!  My parents don't know it was him!"

            "Did he… _force_ himself on you, Bulma?  Be honest!  Because, if he did, he's gonna wish he had never set foot in your house!  I'm gonna hit him so hard, it'll send him all the way back to his exploded planet!"

            She put a hand on her forehead, exasperated.  "He didn't force himself on me.  Do you think I would take that?  I _can_ stand up for myself, you know."

            His shoulders fell and he looked at her sadly.  "I know you can."  He sat back down and she followed suit.

            "It was both of us…together.  We were just lonely, I guess," she admitted.  She heaved a sigh and continued, "Anyway, I haven't seen him lately.  He just up and left one day without a word.  Guess I'm not surprised—he must hate me."

            "Well, that's _his_ problem, Bulma."  He clasped her hands.  "You're amazing, and if he can't see that, then screw him."

            "Yeah, I guess," she shrugged.  "I do kinda miss him, though."  She smiled a little.  “Huh, never thought I’d say that about Vegeta.”

            Yamcha made a face.  “Me either.”  He paused, and a small gasp escaped his lips.  “Uh, Bulma,” he began, rubbing the back of his head, “you don’t have to do this on your own, y’know.”

            She raised her eyebrows.  “Are you saying…what I think you’re saying?”

            His cheeks reddened.  “Uh…I’m just saying…”  He gripped her hands again.  “I’m here for you.  Whatever you need.  I don’t have much experience with babies, but I can learn!”

            She laughed out loud, and he gaped at her, turning even more red.  “Sorry!  It’s just…picturing _you_ taking care of a baby is almost as funny as picturing Vegeta!”

            Yamcha frowned.  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

            She leaned across the table and kissed his cheek.  “Thanks, Yamcha.  It’s really sweet of you.”  She didn’t think it was possible, but he turned an even deeper shade of red, and then averted his eyes, laughing nervously.

            “I meant it,” he said after a minute.  “Every word.”  He reached across the table for her hand again and their fingers entwined.  “Whatever you need, I’m your man.”

            Bulma smiled and suddenly longed for the past, when things were simpler.  Before Cell, before the Androids, before Namek…before Vegeta.  And she wasn’t sure anymore if Yamcha was so wrong for her.  After all, here he was, pledging to do whatever he could to help her and the baby.

            Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud buzzing noise.  Yamcha pulled his hand away, grabbing his cell phone.  “Heh, sorry, that’s me.  One second.”  He answered the phone.  “Oh, hey, Suki.  Yeah, of course we’re still on for tonight.”  He leaned back in the chair.  “How about that new horror flick about the giant lobsters?  Great, see you then.”  Well, that was it.  He wasn’t planning on trying to rekindle anything between them.  He had more than moved on.

            Bulma put on a brave face.  “Who’s Suki?”  She forced a grin.  “New girlfriend?”

            He shrugged.  “We’ll see.  She’s cute.  Kinda young, though.”

            “That never bothered you before,” she smirked.

            “You got me there.”  He smiled sheepishly.  “Well, I guess I’d better get going.”  They both stood up and hugged.  “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

            She nodded.  “You either.”  And then he was gone.  She sat back down and finished her lemonade.  Despite the baby growing inside her, she had never felt more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Just a quick note: it may be a few more days before I post chapter five. I just got Kai on Bluray and I am rewatching. The next chapter will deal with the Android Saga, so I need a refresher.


	5. Cold War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I had to rewatch some scenes for context. The next few chapters should be out much more quickly.

            Trunks was fussy as she held him in her arms.  She tried to quiet him, bouncing him, patting his back, humming to him.  He was about a year old and impossible to take anywhere.  He definitely had his father’s demeanor.  The rest of the group discussed their next move, going after Doctor Gero.  She tried to ignore his father's glower and the veins popping out on his forehead.  He was already angry, opting to go to the lab, allow the doctor to rouse the androids, and then kill all of them in one fell swoop.  Vegeta was particularly nasty to the young man who had appeared to help them.  She didn't understand why.  She shook her head as she listened to him shout about it.  He was an idiot, and she was certain he'd never learn.  The baby squirmed and cried out.  "Shh, Baby Trunks," she cooed.  "Momma's here.  Never you mind the scary man over there.  He won't bother us."

            "Can you shut that child up?" Vegeta growled, clenching his fists.

            Bulma glared at him.  "He's a baby!  He doesn't understand what's going on!  All he understands is that you're screaming like a lunatic!"  The others edged further away.

            Vegeta eyed the others as they wandered farther away, eager to get away from the couple.  Krillin gave Bulma a shrug, before turning and following the others.  She watched Vegeta watching them, and then he turned and approached her.  He maintained his distance, never closer than a few steps.  If he had maintained that distance before, she wouldn't be desperately trying to calm this baby, she thought ruefully.  "What do you want now?" she demanded.  "You're scaring the baby."  

            "What did you bring him here for?" he said.  "Are you so stupid that you need to put yourself _and_ your baby in immediate danger?"  He was angry, but she thought she detected a hint of concern in his eyes.  She brushed it off.  Vegeta had no feelings.  "You're just in the way here," he added, glancing sidelong at the lavender-haired stranger.

            "Well, it doesn't much matter now," she said, growing just as angry herself.  "The ship is destroyed--no thanks to you," she added harshly.

            “That baby is not my responsibility," he growled.  "And neither are you."  She glared at him, speechless.  He did not meet her gaze.

            "Well, that's nice for you!" she snapped.  "I sure wish you had thought of that before we _had sex_!"  She saw the young man cringe.  Why was he watching them, anyway?  She turned her attention back to Vegeta, who was turning to leave.  "Maybe you should have blown me up on Namek, then, if you hate me so much!" she nearly shouted.  She kicked herself for not being able to stop the tears welling up in her eyes.

            He stopped and glanced at her, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.  He recovered quickly, crossing his arms and turning away.  "I never said that.  Your dying wouldn't solve anything."

            Nobody understood.  They thought that just because she was from one of the richest families on Earth, that meant her life was easy.  It was anything but easy, raising this baby on her own.  Sure, she had her parents.  Sure, they had helped.  She and the baby never wanted for anything.  He always had clean diapers, plenty of food, the latest video baby monitors, and mountains of toys.  But she was the one who got up in the middle of the night, every night, over and over, because he was crying.  Or, God, because he _stopped_ crying—because that could have meant disaster as well.  She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since before he was born.  "You don't have any idea what I've been through, do you?  Do you know how _embarrassing_ it is to have a child and not be able to tell anyone who the father is?  I was _humiliated_.  And where were you all that time?   _Training_?  Flying around space?!  God forbid you show up and take some responsibility!"  She couldn't help herself.  She was crying outright now.  She dropped to the dusty ground, letting Trunks fall into her lap.

            An expression of horror was swiftly replaced by one of frustration.  “Stop crying, woman!  Are you _trying_ to get us all killed?”  He paused.  "Believe it or not, I _have_ had other things on my mind lately.  If the androids destroy the planet like _he_ says they will, it won't matter what kind of father I am!"  She glowered at him, then grabbed the nearest rock and threw it at his head.  He dodged it easily, and she went on crying.  His shoulders fell and he sighed, taking another step towards her.  “Please stop crying.”

            “Why?” she nearly shouted.  “Am I being too loud?  God, you’re awful!  Knock me up, then _leave_?!  What kind of person _are_ you?  Oh, that’s right, you’re _not_ a person—you’re a Saiyan!  And all you care about is _yourself_!”  She hurled another rock at him, then covered her face with her hands, sobbing.  Trunks wailed even louder, while the stranger looked on.

            “Stop.”  He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up, and she lowered her arms just in time to catch Trunks.  “You need to go home.   _Both_ of you,” he said, glancing at the baby.  “It’s not safe here.”

            "Don't try and pretend you care now," she said bitterly.  "Go!  Kill your damn androids."  She wiped her eyes with a dirty palm.  "I am _done_ with you."  Vegeta let out a frustrated grunt and joined the others.  She shut her eyes tight, trying to block out the grating sound of his voice.

            "Please, Bulma."  The young man put his hand on her shoulder.  He had a pained expression as he looked at her.  "Vegeta's right.  You need to go home."  She stared at him.  He looked familiar, but she couldn't place it.  It had been bugging her since they had met.  And the Capsule Corp patch on his jacket...Where had he gotten that?  The young man sighed and took a step back.  "Vegeta's heart is set on letting those androids out, and I need to stop him.  You need to get far away.  Go home, where it's safe.  Please."  Vegeta suddenly powered up and shot into the air.  "Damn it," the young man cursed.  "I have to go," he said to her.  "Stay safe."  And then he was gone.

            "Bulma."  She looked up, and Piccolo was making his way towards her.  "There's something you need to know about him."  She stared at the Namekian, puzzled.  "He's Trunks.  He's your son."


	6. Stay

            Bulma watched her son play on the lawn, tears streaming down her cheeks.  She felt silly being this emotional, but couldn’t control it.  Her future son had left days ago, but the pain still remained.  He may have been from the future, but he was still her son.  She reached for a handkerchief only to find that she had none.  She frowned, remembering that she had thrown all of her tear-soaked handkerchiefs in the wash earlier.  She was just wiping her cheeks with her sleeve when a box of tissues appeared in front of her eyes.  “Huh?”  She glanced up at Vegeta.  He looked normal, standing there in a plain shirt and pants, his training uniform and armor gone.  She took a tissue and then he sat down beside her, placing the box of tissues between them.  She blew her nose, wiped her tears away, and stuffed the tissues into her pocket.  “Thank you,” she said at length.  He nodded, but didn't say anything.  “I don’t know why I’m still so upset.  It’s stupid,” she said, shaking her head.

            Vegeta folded his arms, staring ahead.  She thought he was looking at Trunks, but she couldn't be sure.  “He’s your son,” he said, furrowing his brow.  “It’s only natural.”

            Bulma bit her lip, thinking, watching the Saiyan.  He was clearly watching Trunks now.  “I didn't expect to see you today," she said.  "I suppose you’ll be leaving soon, now that Cell’s gone.”  He tensed a little, glancing at her.

            “Is that what you want?” he said after a moment.

            “What?”  She blinked.  "What do you mean?"

            He stared at her, his eyebrows knit together, his emotions barely contained.  Then he clenched his fists and turned away.  "He almost died."

            "Well, you all did.  Didn't you?" she said.

            "He almost died because of _me_."  Bulma watched him struggle to control his emotions, a hideous mixture of anger, fear, even guilt.  She found it difficult to watch and looked away.  “I spent just a few days with Trunks in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber—trained him so that he could stand up to Cell.”  He scoffed.  “He surpassed me.”

            Bulma counted silently on her fingers.  “But that’s equal to a few years, right?”

            “A few years hardly compares to a lifetime of training,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on his son.  “Imagine how strong _he_ would be if I trained him.”  Bulma turned to look at Trunks.  Vegeta gripped his knees, his knuckles white.  “There are so few of us Saiyans left.  I...I cannot abandon him.”

            “So, what are you saying?” she said.  “You want to stay?”  She crossed her arms, frowning.  “After everything you’ve put me through?  After everything you’ve put Trunks through?   _Now_ you want to come back?”

            He flinched, surprised at her response, but recovered quickly.  “He’s my son.  I have the right to oversee his upbringing.”  She rolled her eyes.  She knew he wouldn’t be changing any diapers anytime soon.  His face was flushed.  “Besides, who’s going to teach him about the proud Saiyan race?”

            She straightened up.  "Well, I could."

            "Ha!"  That brought a smile to his face, albeit a mean one.

            Bulma smirked.  “I could teach him all I know about Goku.  I’ve practically known him all my life.”  She smiled, satisfied.

            “Kakarot?” Vegeta scoffed.  “I won’t have you filling my son’s head with fairytales about him!”

            She laughed loudly, putting a hand on his arm.  He stopped, gaping at her.  “God, Vegeta, you’re still too easy!”

            He turned away from her, staring resolutely ahead.  “I’m staying to train my son.  He will be a great Saiyan warrior, like me.”  He stood up.  “Trunks!”

            Bulma jumped up and grabbed his arm.  “Vegeta!  He’s only a year old!  Besides, he can barely even walk!”

            Vegeta laughed.  “He won’t need to walk.  Did you forget we can fly?”  Trunks was at his side now.  He picked him up by his onesie, removing the beanie and revealing Trunks’s messy lavender hair.

            Bulma smiled warmly, looking at the toddler.  “He has his grandfather’s hair.”  She looked up at him.  “But he has his father’s attitude.”  Vegeta put the hat in her hands and started towards the gravity chamber.  “Vegeta!  He’s only _half_ Saiyan, remember?  Don’t push him too hard!” she cried, more panicked.  “He needs a nap every few hours!” she yelled after him, hopping up and down.  He put his hand up, a signal that he understood.  She sighed.  He was staying.  He was staying to train their son.  And if anything else should happen along the way—well, she was okay with that.


	7. 2 AM

            1 AM

            Vegeta lay in the bed he shared with Bulma, unable to sleep.  She was sound asleep and snoring.  Whenever he brought it up, she would say that _he_ was the one who snored.  Her face would be flushed with embarrassment, so he would always drop the subject.  Five years ago he would not have held the door open for her, let alone allow her to win an argument.  But somehow...she’d gotten a hold of him.  She had made him want to keep her happy.  He turned his head to look at her.  She was beautiful and incredibly clever, though she didn’t always show it.  Certainly she had her faults: she was bossy, opinionated, she drank too much, and she never did know when to shut her mouth.  A small smile formed on his lips.  No, he didn’t mind being stuck with this one.  Not really.

            His son was asleep down the hall, exhausted from a long day of training.  The boy had come leaps and bounds in just a few short years.  He was certain that he and Trunks would be the strongest on Earth--maybe even the universe--in no time.  Gohan was completely out of the picture, being forced into school by his overbearing mother.  And Goten?  Well, with no one to train him, he would have no hope of ever reaching the level of a Super Saiyan.  And Kakarot was gone, unless he decided to let them wish him back.  Vegeta felt mocked by him, even in death.  He had never gotten the chance to fight him, Super Saiyan to Super Saiyan.

            “Dad?”

            Vegeta turned his head to see his son standing next to the bed.

            “Dad?  Are you awake?” Trunks whispered.  He scratched his belly absently as he stood, head cocked, looking at his father.

            “What?” Vegeta said gruffly.

            “I had a bad dream,” Trunks said.

            Vegeta sighed and turned his eyes toward the ceiling.  “Go back to sleep, Trunks.”

            Trunks frowned.  “I tried.  I got scared, though.”  He rubbed his eyes.  “Can I sleep with you and Mom?”

            “Tch, don’t be ridiculous,” Vegeta said.

            “Please?” Trunks whined.

            Vegeta rolled his eyes and grunted in frustration as he whipped the covers off and got out of bed.  Bulma stirred and rolled onto her other side, but, miraculously, did not wake up.  “Let’s go,” he said, prodding the six-year-old.  He followed Trunks down the hall and into his bedroom.  He crossed his arms, standing just past the threshold.  “Into bed.”

            “But I wanna be with you guys!” Trunks whined, clenching his fists.

            “Tough,” Vegeta said.  “You will sleep in your own bed, in your own room.”

            “But there’re monsters!”  Trunks grabbed his nearby teddy bear and hugged it to his chest.

            Vegeta blinked.  “What monsters?  Show me.”

            Trunks pointed to the closet.  “In there.”  He nodded towards the bed.  “And under there.”

            Slowly, Vegeta walked to the closet and opened the door.  “If there are any monsters in here, this is your chance to leave.  Otherwise you’ll face the wrath of the prince of all Saiyans!”  He flicked the light on.

            Trunks peered inside.  No monsters.  He looked up at his father with wide eyes.  “Under the bed too!  Get them, Dad!”

            That drew a smug smile out of Vegeta.  He padded over to the bed, pulled up the bed skirt, and said, “Monsters under the bed…you heard me!”

            Trunks got on his hands and knees and shined a flashlight underneath the bed.  “They’re gone.  Thanks, Dad!”  He went to hug him, but stopped, seeing Vegeta tense up.  They didn’t hug.

            “Satisfied?”  Trunks nodded.  “All right.  Get to bed.”  Trunks crawled into bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin.  Vegeta walked to the door and turned around.  “I don’t want to hear anymore nonsense about monsters.  Do you hear me?  You’re the son of a prince.  That makes you royalty.  And above all else, you’re a Saiyan.  You have nothing to fear.”

            Trunks blinked, half scared, half in awe.  “Yes, Dad.  Good night.”  He curled up and closed his eyes.

            “Good night,” Vegeta said, turning off the lights.  He ran his hand through his hair as he walked back to his bedroom.  He exhaled as he got back into bed, hoping he would finally be able to get some sleep.

            “What was that about?” Bulma said, yawning.  She propped herself up on her elbow, scratching her head.

            “The boy had a nightmare,” he grumbled, turning away from her and shutting his eyes.

            “Did you scare the monsters off for him?” she asked groggily.  He grunted his affirmation.  “About time you got to do that.  He never believes me when I tell him there are no monsters.”  She flopped back onto the bed.  Minutes later, he heard her heavy breathing again.  And then the snoring kicked in.

            2 AM

            He shot up and glared at her.  He fumed for a moment, then, defeated, grabbed his pillow and skulked out of the bedroom.  The couch would have to do for tonight if he had any hope of getting any sleep.


	8. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. I always have trouble ending my fics, so I took what was going to be the last chapter and split it up. Be prepared for another wait for the final chapter.

            Bulma stared straight ahead, flying her Capsule Corp ship.  Her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, her jaw clenched.  Vegeta sat beside her, while Trunks was stretched out in the back, sleeping soundly.  The trip seemed endless due to the speed of the transport ship.  It wasn’t the fastest in the fleet, but it was the easiest to pilot.  Vegeta had suggested he fly them all home, but Bulma had declined.  “I’m not clinging to you while you zoom through the air at top speed!  Are you crazy?!” she had said.  He had no desire to make any waves since she was already angry.

            “Why don’t you just let it out?” he said at length.  They were about a third of the way home, and she hadn’t said a word to him.  “There’s no point holding it in any longer.”

            She stared ahead resolutely.  “You want to know why?”  She paused, furrowing her brow.  “Because I might get so upset that I’ll crash this whole damn ship!”  After some rapid keystrokes on the computer, she jammed a lever up, kicking it into autopilot.  “Do you realize what you just put me through?” she demanded.

            He gaped at her.  “I just saved the planet!”

            “You got yourself killed!” she snapped.  “And from what I hear, you were willing to do it again!  Did you ever _once_ think about what that would do to me?  I mean, did it even _occur_ to you that I might not want you to risk your life like that?”  She swiped her bangs out of her face, but he thought he saw some tears on her cheeks as well.  She was trying to hide them like she always did.  “Damn it, Vegeta!  Are you even listening to me?”

            He slammed his fist onto the armrest.  “I did it for you, you idiot woman!  Can’t you see that I love you?”  He wasn’t sure if those words were more shocking to her ears or his own.

            Bulma just stared at him for the longest time, lips parted, barely even blinking her eyes.  At length, she said softly, “You’ve never said that to me before.”

            He folded his arms.  “I never thought I would,” he admitted.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

            Her face turned hard again and she punched his arm.  “This doesn’t change anything!  I’m still mad at you!  You and Trunks both could have been killed.  I’m not just going to forget about that.”  She pulled the lever back, shutting the autopilot off.

            He looked away, staring out the window and watching the clouds roll by.  True to her words, she stayed angry the rest of the way home.  She carried still sleeping Trunks inside and put him to bed, making sure Vegeta saw her shut the door.  He shrugged.  She needed time to cool off.  He got himself cleaned up, put on some clean clothes, and sunk into the couch.

            It felt strange being back home.  It was strange that he even thought of it as home.  But it was.  Despite what he had said to Kakarot, he did care for his family, and to his chagrin, it bothered him that Bulma was shutting him out.  He sighed and reached for the remote.  Maybe some television would help him relax and take his mind off of it.  He flipped through the entire library of channels (and at the Briefs household, that was over a thousand) and couldn’t settle on anything.  He turned the television off and had just shut his eyes when he heard a creak in the floorboard.

            He turned his head to find Bulma standing at the end of the hall, a sheepish look on her face.  “I am an idiot, you’re right.”

            Vegeta stood up, frowning.  “I didn’t mean that.”

            She took a few steps toward him.  “All I did was yell at you when I should have just been glad you made it out alive and that you—that you came back to me.”  Her eyes were shining in the dim light.  “Because the last time I saw you, you—you—you were destroying the arena and—”

            “I wasn’t myself,” he interrupted her.

            “I know.”  She nodded and some tears dripped to the floor.  She blinked.  “Did you really mean it, when you said you loved me?”

            He crossed his arms.  “Of course I did.  Why would I lie—?”

            She ran over to him and threw her arms around him.  He caught her, reluctantly at first, but soon he was holding onto her just as tightly as she was holding onto him.  “I missed you,” she murmured into his shoulder.  “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

            “No promises,” he said with a smirk.  “But I’ll do my best.”  His lips found hers and he kissed her gently.

            “I guess that means you missed me too, huh?” she said, smiling.  She slowly pushed him backwards into the couch, knocking him down.  She hiked up her red dress over her hips and climbed into his lap, straddling his legs.  She filled her hands with his hair and kissed him, harder and more vigorously.  He surprised himself when he allowed it to continue, but he did like the feeling of her tongue in his mouth and her body pressed against his.  She shivered as he ran his hands up her bare thighs, brushing his thumbs over her panty lines.  He grasped her buttocks, pulling her underwear down and drawing a low moan from her.  She broke the kiss and pulled his shirt over his head.  Eager for more, he pulled her back, kissing her neck, her chin, and finally her lips, tasting the inside of her mouth.  His hands crept up her dress and he tugged on her bra, struggling to unclasp it.  She giggled and removed her dress.  She reached back and unhooked her bra, a playful smile on her lips.  He pulled her close and swung her around so she was underneath him, causing her to drop her bra with a yelp.  He took her in for a moment before grabbing one of her pale breasts, roughly pushing and pulling as he hungrily sucked on her neck.  She moaned, arching her back, and then pulled his mouth back to her own.  “You _really_ missed me,” she murmured between kisses.  “Now, let’s get those pants off,” she said, sliding her hands under his waistband.

            “Mom, Dad?  What are you guys doing?”

            Bulma’s eyes widened and she sat up, pressing her arm to her breasts.  Vegeta whirled around, trying to block his son’s view.  “It’s laundry day, sweetie,” Bulma said over his shoulder.

            Trunks looked around.  “I don’t see any laundry baskets.”

            “Go to bed, son,” Vegeta said sternly, while Bulma discreetly dressed behind him.

            Trunks crossed his arms and frowned.  “Are you guys having sex?” he asked calmly.

            “What?!” Bulma squeaked.  Vegeta’s cheeks were burning.  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

            “Mom, I’m not a little kid.  I know what sex is.”  He itched his nose, while Vegeta watched him, tense.  “So…are you having another baby, then?”

            “Trunks!”  Bulma burst out from behind Vegeta, fully clothed.  She stomped over to him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt.  “Don’t you know how rude it is to talk about that kind of stuff?  Haven’t you learned any manners at all?”  She dragged him down the hall.  “I _hope_ you aren’t talking to little Goten about this kind of thing!  Not a little kid, ha!  You’re only eight!  You’re _practically_ a baby!”

            Vegeta heaved a sigh of relief as the door to Trunks’s bedroom closed.  He could hear them arguing back and forth.  Finally Bulma shouted, “WE’RE NOT HAVING A BABY!  NOW GO TO BED!”  She left the room and leaned against the door for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.  She gave him a weary smile, and he got to his feet and followed her into their own bedroom.

            Bulma collapsed on the bed, putting her hand on her forehead.  She was still flushed, both from embarrassment and anger.  He lay down beside her, putting his hands behind his head.  “I wasn’t ready for that,” she said, her tone strained.  “He’s growing up.  He knows what _sex_ is.  My little baby is all grown up!”  She was getting emotional.  He glanced at her sidelong.  Sensing his eyes on her, she turned her head.  “Vegeta…I want another baby.”

            “Out of the question,” he said without hesitation.

            “Come on, Vegeta!  Don’t you want to have another little one around the house?” she wheedled.  She scooched next to him, tracing circles on his chest with her fingers.

            “You already have one,” he said, frowning.  “Why would you want another?”  He brushed her hand aside.  The time for that was over.

            “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a daughter?”  She rested her chin on his shoulder.

            “Bulma,” he warned.

            She sat up suddenly, frowning.  “Five minutes ago you were singing a different tune!”

            “That has nothing to do with this,” he said sharply.

            She crossed her arms.  “ _That_ is how you get _this_ ,” she snapped.  He let out a noise of exasperation and turned away.  She was silent for a moment.  “All right,” she said, defeated.  Give it a few years.  You’ll want another one.  I know it.”

            He scoffed.  “Right.”


	9. Tying the Knot

            Vegeta stared at his reflection, adjusting his tie.  His awkward-feeling, confining tie.  What a stupid thing, a tie.  It served no purpose other than to keep his collar straight, and that could easily be done with a button.  Bulma had ordered suits for him, Trunks, and even Yamcha, who she had insisted be a part of her “big day,” as she called it.  She had talked of nothing else for weeks as she planned out every detail of the event.  He, on the other hand, was regretting this already, and the ceremony hadn’t even begun yet.  He had suggested something more private—immediate family only—and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when she presented him with her preliminary guest list of just under three hundred people.  Thankfully, he was able to convince Bulma to cut it down to just close friends and family.  Still…he felt ridiculous.  Silly Earth custom.

            “Dad?”  His eyes flicked to the edge of the mirror.  Trunks walked in, black tie in hand.  He stared at his father’s reflection and sighed.  “I can’t get this thing on.”

            Vegeta turned around.  He hunched over and looped the tie around Trunks’s already popped shirt collar.  After ten minutes of tying, untying, and cursing, he was finally able to get the tie in place.  “It was easier on myself,” he grumbled at Trunks’s bemused expression.  He straightened up.  “Is your mother ready?”

            Trunks shrugged and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.  Vegeta was struck how much his teenage son looked like him.  A sullen expression, furrowed brow, and his eyes—no, he had his mother’s bright blue eyes.  “Why do we have to do this, anyway?” he said, frowning.

            “Because your mother wants it,” Vegeta answered flatly.

            “She said that you were finally going to make an honest woman of her.  What does _that_ mean?” Trunks asked, puzzled.

            Vegeta breathed in sharply and froze.  Bulma needed to watch what she said around him.  At thirteen, their son may have been able to go Super Saiyan, but he had yet to grasp the subtleties of adult conversation.  He was thankful for that, but it did result in a lot of questions.  “That’s none of your concern, son.”  He walked to the door.  “Let’s go.”

            He headed down the corridor, hands in his pockets, with Trunks in tow.  He felt a small box in his pocket.  The rings.  He had agreed to wear it for the ceremony only, out of respect for Bulma’s customs.  She understood that it would only get in the way of his training.  He heard yelling coming from one of the spare rooms.  As they walked down the hall, the voices got louder, and he realized it was Bulma.

            Suddenly, Yamcha burst out of the room.  “You look fine!  No one will even notice!”  He was sporting a new mark on his forehead, likely from the bride-to-be.

            “Shut up, Yamcha!  I’m enormous!  I CAN’T DO THIS!” she yelled, before slamming the door shut.

            “What now?” Vegeta muttered, walking towards the room.

            Yamcha turned, rubbing his head.  “Oh, hey, Vegeta.”  He laughed nervously.  “She’s just a little anxious, I think.”  He bit his lip.  “Maybe…you could talk to her.”

            Vegeta rolled his eyes.  “Here.”  He handed the ring box to Trunks.  “I’ll be out there in a few minutes.”

            Trunks nodded and started down the corridor.  “I’ll stall for time!” Yamcha said, falling in step with the teenager.

            Vegeta sighed and knocked on the door.  “Bulma.”

            “The wedding’s off, Vegeta!  Go away!” came her shrill voice.

            He shook his head.  “I’m coming in.”

            “Vegeta!  No—!”  He ignored her and threw open the door, slamming it behind him.  She flushed, one hand clutching the back of her long, white dress.  “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony!” she cried.

            “I saw you this morning!  Argh, you’re being ridiculous!”  He put a hand on his forehead, frustrated with her.  “Besides, you just said the wedding’s off, so I hardly think that matters whether I see you or not.”  She turned her nose up at him.  He stared at her, half dressed, no makeup, her eyes red and puffy from crying.  He sighed, folding his arms.  “Bulma, you’ve put far too much work into this to call it off now.”  She glanced back at him, but didn’t respond.  “And I agreed to wear this suit today only.  I won’t do it again.”

            She turned her head to face him again, tears rolling down her cheek.  “I can’t get my dress on,” she whimpered.  She tugged at the fabric and it strained against her large pregnant belly, but wouldn’t stretch far enough.  “When I ordered this, I didn’t think I’d have gotten so big.”  She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.  “I can’t go out there looking like this.”

            He stepped towards her.  “Now you know how I feel.”

            “Huh?  What’s that supposed to mean?”  She blinked at him.

            “Don’t you think I feel silly in this ridiculous outfit?”  He squirmed.  “It’s confining, it’s itchy, and I can barely breathe.”  He aggressively loosened the tie, nearly undoing the knot entirely.  “You place so much importance on the way you look, basing it all off some centuries-old tradition.  What does it matter how you look?  Wear nothing, for all I care!”  He clenched his fist.  “But know this: we do this today your way or not at all.  I won’t be subjecting myself to this ridiculous custom again.”  He looked at her expectantly.  “Well?  Make up your mind.”

            “Bulma?”  The door opened and Chi-Chi rushed in.  “Vegeta!  What are you doing in here?  It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!”  He rolled his eyes and she turned to Bulma, her face softening.  “What’s the matter?  Why aren’t you dressed?”  Bulma’s lower lip started to tremble and Chi-Chi nodded in understanding.  “You just give me ten minutes, dear, and I’ll have you all ready.”  She turned to Vegeta.  “You can leave now.”

            “She wants to call it off,” Vegeta said through gritted teeth.  It was bad enough that he was pushed around by Bulma.  He didn’t need to be bossed by Kakarot’s wife as well.

            “Nonsense!” Chi-Chi said with a laugh.  “Now, _get out_ , Vegeta.”

            He glared at her for a moment.  How could Kakarot be married to such a creature?  She was so overbearing and so _loud_.  He started towards the door, but Bulma caught his hand and gave him a small smile, tears still in her eyes.  Without looking at her, he gave her hand a quick squeeze, nodded, and left the room.  Yamcha was waiting outside the door.  A purple bruise had bloomed from the bump on his forehead.  “I thought you were stalling for time,” he said irritably.

            Yamcha winced as he touched the bruise.  “Goten and Trunks started the karaoke early.”  He made a face.  “They’re terrible, but at least they’re distracting people.”  He nodded towards the room.  “How’s Bulma doing?”

            “Kakarot’s wife is taking care of it.”  He started towards the courtyard, and Yamcha fell into step beside him.

            “Look, I know we’ve never exactly gotten along,” Yamcha began.

            Vegeta laughed.  “ _That’s_ an understatement.”

            “And I wasn’t the happiest person when you started hanging around Bulma,” he continued.

            “Uh-huh,” Vegeta grunted.

            Yamcha smiled weakly.  “Right, well, with marriages symbolizing new beginnings and all, I thought we could…start over.”  They halted just outside the door.  Sunlight was streaming through the panes of glass.  He could hear the tinny music of the karaoke machine and Trunks’s somewhat off-key version of a popular Earth song.  “What do you say?”  Yamcha held out his hand.  “Truce?”  Vegeta looked from Yamcha’s hand to his face.  Begrudgingly, he shook his hand, turning away.  Yamcha laughed nervously.  “Now, remember our truce when I make my speech, okay?”

            Vegeta eyed him.  “What?  What do you—?”

            Just then, Chi-Chi came rushing down the hall.  “Okay, Yamcha, Vegeta.  It’s show time!”  She swept past him, pulling Yamcha with her.  He waited until they had gone, took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for taking the time to comment or like this story! I am grateful for each and every one of you! This is the last chapter in this fic, but I will probably do more drabbles as they come to mind. I'm happy to talk Vegebul any time, or if you have ideas/prompts for fics, send them my way.


	10. The Speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I caved. You wanted the speech, you got it. Side note, I have started watching Dragon Ball, and I love Yamcha even more now. And I totally ship Yamcha x Bulma AND Vegebul. God, they're all so damn cute.

            Yamcha tugged at his collar, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his sweaty hands.  Why was he so nervous?  This was _Bulma_ , for heaven's sake!  He had known her forever!  He swallowed, staring out at the crowd.  He knew all of them too.  Dammit, what was wrong with him?  He cleared his throat and began to read.  "So, most of you know, Bulma and I go way back.  Back to when Goku still had a tail."  He let out a nervous laugh.  "And Krillin was only this high."  He knelt down and held his hand about two feet off the ground.  That drew a laugh.

            "Hey!  Aren't you supposed to be making fun of Vegeta?" Krillin shot back, frowning.

            Yamcha smiled, feeling more confident now.  "I'll get to that."  He tried to look anywhere but at the Saiyan, who he assumed was now glaring at him.  "Bulma and I actually dated for quite a while."  She gave him a cautious smile, daring him to go on.  "It was up and down, mostly.  I don't know if you guys know, but she can be a little demanding."  That even drew a smirk from Vegeta.  "She's never quite understood that fighters need to fight.  So, boy, was I shocked when she started flirting with Vegeta.  And, I mean, this was nothing new to me--Bulma flirted with _everyone_ when we were together."

            "So did you, you jerk!" she called, but he caught the playful gleam in her eye.

            "Vegeta, Vegeta."  Yamcha stuffed the paper into his pocket, pacing back and forth--he was winging it now.  "I don't even know where to start.  The first time we met, you were trying to kill me."

            "Care to repeat the exercise?" came Vegeta's husky voice.

            Yamcha ignored him.  "I don't know how things work on your planet, but on Earth, usually the first thing you do with a woman _isn't_ get her pregnant."  Vegeta crossed his arms, blushed, and sunk lower into his chair.  "Over the years, Bulma and I have remained friends.  I wouldn't be standing up here if that wasn't the case.  Though," he continued, "I think it may be because Goku wasn't able to be here."  He paused.  "Vegeta, on the other hand...well, we haven't really gotten along.  Could be because he hates my guts.  Especially now," he said with a nervous laugh.  "But he's come a long way since that day in the desert.  He's a father, he's a husband.  He actually shook my hand a few hours ago."  He thumbed in the direction of the foyer through the glass doors behind him.  "I think you got a good one, Bulma.  And I don't have to worry about you being safe--because I know you're always gonna jump into dangerous situations.  You always have."  He met Vegeta's gaze.  "This guy's gonna protect you, though.  That much is clear to me."  He smiled, but Vegeta averted his eyes.

            And now he couldn't help but feel emotional.  His Bulma was now Vegeta's Bulma, and it _was_ sad, but he also knew this was they way things were supposed to be.  "I know it was your wish to find your true love, Bulma.  And I'm really glad you finally got your wish."  He raised his glass.  "To the happy couple."

            "Oh, Yamcha!"  With difficulty, but with impressive speed for someone in her third trimester, she hurried over to him and hugged him tightly.  She was crying, and the tears that had been threatening him finally spilled over.

            She finally let go and stepped aside, and he saw Vegeta approaching them.  "Yamcha," he said, his brow furrowed.  After the emotional response he got from Bulma, he hoped Vegeta wouldn't be mad.  But it was hard to tell--he always looked angry.  "Did you really think you were going to get away with that?  Nobody dishonors the prince of all Saiyans."  Yamcha didn't even have time to brace himself for the punch that would knock him to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  He woke up an hour later with an icepack on his face.

            "Yamcha!  Are you all right?  How do you feel?" Bulma asked, fussing over him.

            "Do you realize," he said slowly, "that I got hit by both you _and_ your husband today?"  The furrowed her brow, about to apologize, but he wasn't done.  "But there's a silver lining."  She looked puzzled.  "He's starting to like me."

            "Oh, honey, you got hit pretty hard," Bulma said, brushing his hair off his forehead.

            "No, that's the thing," Yamcha went on.  "He _could_ have sent me flying.  I mean, he's a _Saiyan_ \--he's the strongest person on the planet with Goku gone.  He went easy on me because...because he _cares_."  Tears spilled from his eyes and Bulma shook her head, laughing softly.


End file.
